


Dream of Better Lives

by Tabithian



Series: Through the Looking Glass [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Sky High (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing they don't tell you when you graduate from Sky High is that it can be incredibly difficult to get a job in the business. Especially if you're like Tim and have no noticeable powers to speak of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream of Better Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely _Sky High_ AU and (also) vaguely based on [this](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/123967650314/some-more-aus) because reasons.

The thing they don't tell you when you graduate from Sky High is that it can be incredibly difficult to get a job in the business. Especially if you're like Tim and have no noticeable powers to speak of.

Don't get him wrong, things improved a lot after the incident with Royal Pain, but there are still...biases.

“This is stupid.”

“No, this is smart.”

This is Tim filling out an online application for a site that matches heroes and sidekicks, and how is this an actual thing? (It feels like an online dating website to Tim, to be honest.)

“I thought you wanted to spar?” Tim asks, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I mean, this doesn't look like sparring to me.”

Kon pushes him out of the way, annoyed at Tim's dithering, and starts filling in the empty blanks for him.

“What? Kon, don't you dare!”

And there's Kon, laughing at him like the jerk he is and putting in responses Tim is going to kill him for and he knows it.

“Then fill it in yourself, Tim,” Kon says, letting Tim drag him away from the keyboard. “Come on, you're the only one of us who hasn't - “

Kon's mouth snaps his mouth shut, gives Tim an apologetic look.

“The only one who hasn't found a hero,” Tim finises for him with a resigned sigh.

Kon grimaces. “Uh, yeah.”

Tim looks at him for a long moment, at the way Kon's holding himself, guilty, apologetic, _worried_.

Kon who's working with Superman in Metropolis, and thinks of Bart and the Flash, Cassie and Wonder Woman. All of his classmates that have gradated and gotten jobs as sidekicks while Tim.

“Look,” Kon says, rubs the back of his neck. “You're pretty great, you know? You could totally pull off the superhero thing without any powers, but.”

But that's not how their world works. At least for graduates fresh out of Sky High.

“You're still the scariest sidekick this school's ever seen,” Kon says, when Tim turns back to the computer. 

“We're still sparring after this,” Tim says, and doesn't let Kon hear the smile in his voice. “Don't think I'm letting you out of that now.”

Kon groans, flopping backward onto Tim's bed. “Man, you should have enrolled in the super villain course instead, you know? Top grades all around for sure.”

(That's not the first time Tim's heard that, oddly enough.)

********

“Who are you?”

Tim's wearing the suit all Sky High graduates receive, serviceable enough body armor done in flat gray without personal embellishment and a simple mask. Nothing flashy, memorable, only meant to conceal their identities until they choose one for themselves.

And Tim.

Tim is in a strange city standing on a strange rooftop with a strange superhero staring at him. He has the website's email printed out and folded neatly in one of his belt pouches and his collapsible bo at his back, but this.

This is terrifying, worse than the real-world job interviews he'd gone to earlier in the week. 

“Er,” Tim says, fumbles for the printout. “I'm here about this?”

“What?”

Tim holds the paper out, and takes a careful step back when the superhero takes it from him. The site's email had said this one was one of the more easygoing superheroes out there, unless suitably provoked.

“I don't remember filling out anything like this.”

Tim's stomach drops.

“Um.”

“I mean, Oracle and Robin have been on my case about - “

Tim can see the penny drop, eyes going to gloved hands as they tighten, crushing the paper in his hands. 

Takes another careful step back.

He has training, yes, but he's still just a sidekick.

“Oh my God,” incredulousness and a hint of what might charitably be called admiration. “I can't believe they did this.”

Tim would like to know, but at the same time...

“It sounds like this is some kind of mistake,” Tim says, smiles a little. “I'm sorry if - “

“No,” the superhero says, and he's back to watching Tim. Studying him. “How'd you get up here?”

Tim blinks.

“With this?” he says, and holds up his grapple.

More staring, and then the superhero is walking closer, circling him. 

“Powers?”

From right behind him, close enough Tim can feel his breath against his ear. 

Tim looks straight ahead, fingers curling into a loose fist. “Negligible.”

There's a heavy silence that makes Tim think of the his file and red ink bleeding into stark white paper. 

“We'll get along fine, then,” Tim hears, and the superhero crosses in front of him, smiling. “I'm Nightwing, pleased to meet you.”

********

Bludhaven takes some getting used to, and so does Tim's new hero.

“What am I looking at, here?” 

“Your suit?” Nightwing hazards, turning to make sure that yes, that horrible monstrosity he's referring to is the right one. “I designed it myself.”

Tim's seen outrageous suit designs in school – there's an entire class sequence devoted to it that lasts all four years because it's such an integral part of what they do – but this.

“It's certainly impressive,” Tim says, chooses to be diplomatic about it. He'll get his chance to alter it at some point down the road, assuming he doesn't get fired first. “Colorful.”

Nightwing is watching him, head tilted just so. 

“Well,” he says after a moment, “Flamebird.”

Yes. That.

********

The contract Tim signed to become Nightwing's sidekick is a little strange. The kind of odd that makes immediate sense when Nightwing tells Tim he's from one of the older superhero families, one that operates differently than most families in the business. 

Based out of Gotham, sidekicks not chosen from Sky High graduates but some inexplicable system that basically amounts to _yes, I want that one_.

That means Tim is not allowed to ask Nightwing his secret identity or try to discover it for himself, under penalty of job termination and, Tim isn't as sure of this because his legalese is patchy, perhaps _actual termination_.

“I wasn't actually looking for a sidekick of my own,” Nightwing says, leaning close to be heard over the gunfire. “I mean, I've only been active in Bludhaven for two years, you know? Kind of soon for me.” 

Tim rolls a smoke pellet in his fingers – gently, gently – and wonders if Nightwing realizes he sounds like he's talking about having kids. (It's more or less the same in some circles, Tim knows.)

It's been a few months since Tim approached Nightwing, and Tim's been busy. Learning the city, _Nightwing_.

How to anticipate him and whatever plan he'd come up with on the spur of the moment, where his weak spots were so Tim would always know to be there. Those things and more, earning his friendship and building the kind of trust that would last.

“And then your family put out the ad for you,” Tim says, and only winces a little at that.

Nightwing laughs, reaches out to ruffle Tim's hair like they aren't being shot at by an angry gang Nightwing's been after long before Tim showed up in Bludhaven. 

“Lucky for me, right? You're amazing.”

Tim doesn't blush at that, terrible at taking personal compliments like that, but.

But Nightwing's grinning at him, bright teeth in a wide smile, so full of fondness and affection.

(Suddenly all those videos they were forced to endure in class about not falling in love with your superhero because it just leads to heartache make a horrible sort of sense.)

********

“Tim, you really need a life, man, this isn't good for you.”

Tim sighs, shooting Kon a dirty look.

For once it's been a slow night, minimal crime. Nothing more than a few muggings, dumb kids trying to steal cars.

“I'm working,” he says, looking around to make sure Nightwing isn't going to pop up out of nowhere to harass him. “Go away.”

Kon snorts, flies a little closer. 

“No.”

And.

“ _Kon._ ”

“All you do now is work,” Kon whines, like he isn't part of the reason Tim has this job. “Seriously, though. You're either working your day job, or out here, and that's not healthy.”

Tim looks at Kon. 

Because he has all this free time to spend.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

Tim rolls his eyes behind his mask, rolls his shoulders to settle his cape a little more firmly.

“Maybe in a little while,” Tim says, slowly, not wanting to commit. “I'm still getting the hang of this.”

School didn't prepare Tim for this, villains and everyday thugs, a city that loves them one day and hates them the next, _Nightwing_.

It gave them classes about suit design very few people ever put to practical use and rescue training. Taught them things that don't really apply out of the classroom and gave them warnings that never make any sense until it's too late to be of any help.

Kon scoffs. “Right, like you've been saying for the how many weeks now? Come on, Tim, live a little.”

There's a flash of color in the shadows in the building across the way, muted blue.

Tim lifts his head, looks at Kon.

“Tim?”

“Remember how you weaseled you way out of our sparring session last week?”

Kon goes pale, darts away like he's forgotten Tim has his grapple, that Tim learned to fly from him.

He sees Nightwing watching them as they go past, widening grin on his face and a shouted cheer, and feels a laugh of his own bubble up because _this life_.

********

The general consensus is that Sky High prepares people who are so inclined for a life of fighting crime or committing them, but not much else.

Tim's heard stories of graduates who floundered in the real-world, unable to adjust to everyday situations without using their powers or training in some ways. The ones who were forced to retire early due to injury or trauma and had no applicable skills for real-world jobs, and Tim.

Tim's from Gotham, he's not under any illusions that he's going to be able to do this, be part of the superhero world for the rest of his life.

So.

Tim's part time job at a little coffee shop during the day to help pay for his college classes and living expenses. 

Not glamorous or exciting, maybe, but there are. Hmm. 

_Perks_.

“Hey, my favorite barista, who would have thought.”

Tim roll his eyes, disgustingly fond as he turns to see officer Grayson, hat tucked under is arm. He's _leaning_ , friendly smile on his face.

“Completely unexpected,” Tim agrees, playing along. “It's almost like this is my regular shift.”

Dick rattles off his order, something unnecessarily complicated – a different one each time as a challenge to Tim.

Tim shakes his head and concentrates on what he's doing. Takes a moment to push his glasses up when thy slip, aware of Dick and his co-workers watching. The low chant that one of them starts when Tim gets to the second phase of making Dick's drink, Dick's little smirk the whole time.

He ignores the faint blush that makes an appearance at the wild cheering when he presents Dick with his drink, stupidly expensive and overly complicated.

“And this is why you're my favorite, Timmy.”

And this.

Maybe there's something to what Kon's been telling him, encouraging him to look for reasons to stay in Bludhaven that don't have anything to do with capes and masks and punching people in the face at night.

********

Tim's positive Nightwing has no idea how terrifying he can be.

“I'm going to die?” Tim says, voice lilting upwards at the end to make it question. “What did I ever do to you?”

Nightwing's laughter right next to his ear as he checks the blindfold covering Tim's eyes.

“Relax,” he says, fingers brushing Tim's face as he pulls the blindfold's tails back. “This is easy.”

Tim bares his teeth a little. “For you, maybe.”

Nightwing is a highly skilled acrobat who's been in the business since he was a kid, from the stories he's told Tim. 

Tim is.

Tim is Tim, a stupid kid who got into Sky High on a technicality thanks to his family's genetics and spent the four years after that fighting tooth and nail to be taken seriously when he failed to exhibit powers.

“Hey,” Nightwing says, hands dropping to Tim's shoulders. “Trust me, okay? This is going to be fun.”

Tim cocks his head to the side. “Fun.”

Nightwing's laughter again, hand on Tim's shoulder turning him to the right to help him make the jump. He can just make out the train's whistle in the distance, getting closer with every second.

“So much fun, Flamebird. So, so much.”

(If Tim doesn't get himself killed learning to train surf, that is.)

********

Tim's been trained as a detective, took the necessary classes and did some independent study, but even this managed to go over his head.

“Huh,” Kon says, squints over at Dick talking to his partner in one of the booths. “That guy seems kind of familiar.”

Tim shoots Kon a look. “It's Dick Grayson,” Tim says, waits a beat and sighs when Kon just looks at him. “Bruce Wayne's ward?”

Kon blinks, does a double-take.

“Really? Oh, wow, yeah. I thought that face looked familiar, but that's not what I was talking about.”

Tim's turn to blink, gaze sliding to where Dick's laughing at something Gannon must have said, grabbing his hat as he gets ready to go back on shift.

“I mean,” Kon makes a frustrated noise. “Just. When he gets up. You'll see.”

Tim has no idea what Kon's talking about, but.

But Dick' standing, following Gannon towards the front door with Gannon a few steps ahead. Half turns to wink at Tim and throw a little grin his way, and walks away and - 

Oh, God.

“See? I just don't know why he seems so familiar.”

Tim does.

********

Tim supposes it makes a sort of sense, really, when he thinks about it.

There were rumors, theories, that Batman's secret identity must be wealthy given how well equipped he and his people tended to be.

Bruce Wayne and Batman are both based out of Gotham, and so was Nightwing, when he was still a sidekick. (Robin.)

All those mysterious accidents and injuries one of them would show up with at some gala or charity ball, broadcast to Gotham and beyond on the news. (The thing with the second Robin, Red Hood's appearance. Everything.)

Tim looks at the contract he signed, feeling a little sick because he knows, and he shouldn't and everything is terrible.

********

There was a class for this. Actually, no, wait, there were several classes for this.

“You'd better hope he finds you, Flamebird.”

Tim bites back a sigh, choosing to test his bonds. Too tight to allow him to wriggle free, and the goon who'd done the knots definitely knew what he was doing. Tim's utility belt is across the room hanging on a hook and Tim is slightly concussed.

Just a little, really.

“Did you get that from a villain handbook?” Tim asks, and he's only partially joking. “It's a little cliché, don't you think?”

This was not part of the classes that covered what to do in the even you are taken hostage by your superhero's enemies.

No.

For the mot part there was talking about humoring your captor, stalling for time to let your superhero find and rescue you. An emphasis on not antagonizing your captor because there's just no knowing if they're the kind to kill you for looking at them funny or for the hell of it. (If they'd make you hurt just because they could, no reason necessary.) 

“Ah, you have a sense of humor after all. I'd wondered.”

Tim squints toward the voice, unable to see who managed to catch him thanks to the floodlights arrayed around him. 

He tunes out the villainous monologue even though that was covered in the class too, always listen because they might give away more than they intend to, focusing on getting free before Dic - _Nightwing_ walks into a trap.

So of course, of course, that's when the skylight shatters and Nightwing drops down on one of the armed goons and starts throwing out one-liners and quips as much as his angry fists and highly annoyed feet encased in steel-capped boots.

Tim watches in a dazed sort of fascination (slight concussion may have been an understatement on his part) and after several minutes the warehouse goes quiet, Nightwing turning to look at him.

There are pained groans and a whimper here and there from the goons. Nightwing breathing a little hard after the fight and crunch of broken glass under his boots as he walks to Tim.

“Hey,” Tim says, “your left side is still a little weak.”

Nightwing's face cycles through surprise to annoyance to anger to fear to amusement before settling on something Tim can't identify, smile a little crooked.

“That's what I have you for, right?”

It's. It's more than a superhero to their sidekick, sounds suspiciously like a confession, like _I love you_.

And Tim.

“Oh, God, I think I'm going to throw up,” Tim says, and hunches forward to do just that.

He gets a fantastic view of Nightwing's boots right before he throws up all over them.

(Change 'slightly concussed' to 'severely concussed' and it's a little closer to Tim's physical condition at the moment.)

********

“I'm going to get fired,” Tim moans, staring at his bedroom ceiling, phone pressed between his ear and his pillow. “I kind of love this stupid job.”

(And Dick, but saying that out loud to Kon is asking for trouble on several levels.)

There's a long, long moment of silence and then Kon's, “Wait, which job are we talking about? I was a little distracted.”

Kon's helping Cassie and Bart fight an army of robots trying to destroy San Francisco and Tim is feeling sorry for himself.

(Also recovering from his injuries, but mostly that first part.)

“Night job,” Tim says, rubbing his eyes. “And watch your back, you suck at that.”

Kon grumbles something that sounds like _backseat sidekicking again_ and there's a sound of crunching metal and Cassie's victory cry in the background.

“Why are you going to get fired?” Kon asks, sounding like he's humoring Tim instead of being a true and loyal friend. “Is this because you threw up on the poor guy when he rescued you?”

“No,” Tim says, although that might be a contributing factor, now that he thinks about it. “Shut up.”

Kon's laughing at him in between crushing evil robots. “Okay, fine, so why are you getting fired, genius?"

“Because,” Tim says, eyes going to that stupid contract on his desk again. “I _know_.”

More sounds of Kon and the others destroying robots right and left and a slightly out of breath, “What?”

Tim.

“The contract,” he says, waves his free hand vaguely. “I kind of violated it.”

Just a little, and Tim is talking to Kon about it because it's all his fault.

“Tim,” a long drawn-out sigh. “You ever think you should just talk to the guy? I mean, seriously, all you do is put on a pair of glasses and turn into some kind of Hipster-light kid when you're not in the bird suit. Pretty sure he knows who you are.”

Oh, the irony.

Also, if Dick _does_ know who Tim is, everything makes a terrible kind of sense. 

“You have no idea who his dad is, Kon,” Tim says.

And Kon, Kon who can laugh about this _now_ , says, “Well, can't be worse than mine, right?”

(Kon has no idea how wrong he is.)

********

Something pulls Tim out of sleep without warning, hand going for the throwing knife under his pillow before his eyes are fully open.

“Hey, hey, whoa, it's just me, Tim, it's okay.”

Tim looks over to see - 

“Nightwing?” Tim says cautiously, eyes dropping to the rolled up mask he's holding in one hand.

Tim doesn't know what else to call him when he's wearing his suit, but the mask - 

“Oh, God,” Tim says, slumps back down and buries his face in his pillow. “Am I fired?”

Is this what the Bats do when they fire their sidekicks? Sudden secret identity reveal and a thank you for your help, now don't come back? (And also, now he knows for certain that, yes, Dick knows exactly who he is.)

There's a beat of stunned silence and then a hesitant, “No?”, followed by a rushed, “Unless you want to quite, I'd understand after the other day.” 

Tim turns his head just enough to see Nightwing - _Dick_ \- running a hand through his hair nervously. 

“I kind of let you down.”

Tim.

“What? No,” Tim says, struggles upright, but he's somehow managed to tangle himself in his blankets and only makes it partway. Some undignified hunched position, one arm trapped. “That's. No, you didn't, and anyway, that's not what I mean.”

Dick blinks, slight frown on his face. “So what - “

Tim just _looks_ at him. Standing in his room and unmasked and there's no way Tim can't know who he is, can't pretend he doesn't know.

“Did you even read the contract you had me sign?”

Dick's slight frown deepens, turns almost into a scowl. “No,” he says, draws the word out longer than necessary. “But I'm starting to think I should have.”

Well, yes, that would be a good thing, wouldn't it. 

“Let me guess,” Tim says, remembering to be careful even now. “Batman's people wrote it.”

Dick gives him a strange look, but nods. “Standard contract for one of us when we get a sidekick, yeah.”

Of course it is.

Still.

“This uh,” Tim say, gestures at Dick's face, sans mask. “This kind of violates it.”

And oh, the look on Dick's face for that.

“Really.”

Tim shrugs, an awkward thing trapped the way he is, but.

“I need to talk to someone,” Dick says, expression letting Tim know just who that someone is. 

“Okay?” Tim says, uncertainly.

Dick look at Tim, takes in his current state and grins a little, expression softening, goes a little rueful.

“Do you want to quit?”

He's not just asking about the job, of being Flamebird, and Tim's answer to this is easy, simple.

“No,” Tim says, honest, “I don't.”

And _there's_ Dick's smile.

“Okay, so. I need to have a talk with someone about a thing,” Dick says, smooths down Tim's hair. “I'll talk to you later, all right?”

Tim can't actually move like this, so he settles for a little sigh and, “Okay.”

Dick presses a kisses a kiss against Tim's temple and then he's gone, and Tim isn't sure he knows what's going on anymore.

********

Dick doesn't show up at the shop for his usual overly complicated coffee the next day, and Tim staunchly doesn't think about what that might mean.

At all.

Really.

At least not until he suits up as Flamebird and spends half an hour waiting for Nightwing to show up to start their nightly patrol.

Tim considers calling it a night, at first. Going home and trying to sleep with unanswered question running through his head, but.

Bludhaven isn't Gotham, but she's his now. Meaner and nastier than Gotham's ever been, colder and darker but still his.

He stops a mugging and a robbery before he notices the tail he picked up somewhere along the way, catches little flashes of blue at his periphery.

Drops to a low roof and waits, and is rewarded a few minutes later when Nightwing steps out of the shadows.

There's a bit of staring, Nightwing looking him over to see if he's injured before the set of his shoulders eases.

“Hey,” Tim says, careful.

A rueful smile from Nightwing. ”Hey.”

Tim shifts, uneasy with the way Nightwing – Dick is still staring.

Wants to ask, but.

“I had a talk with Batman,” Dick says after a few moments. “Good news is no more contracts.”

Tim squints at him. “What's the bad news?”

Dick scratches his nose, looks away. “He wants to meet you.”

Urgh.

And now Dick's laughing at him, coming over to sit next to Tim and bumping him with his shoulder. “Hey, it's not that bad, right?”

Tim met Batman once, when he was a guest speaker at Sky High. It was...memorable.

“Seriously,” Tim asks, face in his hands. “What did I ever do to you?”

Dick wraps an arm around Tim and pulls him close, still laughing because he's a jerk of the highest order. “Hey, if you can put up with me this long, Batman's easy.”

Tim groans, lets Dick rub his neck in an effort to comfort him and failing because he can't stop laughing at Tim's pain.

“You suck,” Tim says some time later, jabbing Dick with his elbow. 

Dick hums, low and content, and Tim.

Tim looks at Dick, the stupid little smile on his face and.

“I better get hazard pay for that,” he says, resigned. 

“Sure, sure,” Dick says, drops a little kiss on the top of Tim's head. “Of course.”

Tim sighs, wonders at his life choices that have led him to this point and where he went wrong.

(Wonders what he did right to get this, get , and if it's something he gets to keep for himself.)

********

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> *hands*


End file.
